YAY! I get to see a surgeon!

…wait…yay, I get to see the guy who cuts large holes in people for living?

So...wrong...{shudder}

The scan last week showed that my gallbladder is broke. So I get to see a surgeon on Thursday to find out if I get to go straight in for surgery, need to take some antibiotics at home first or, worst possible case in the universe, I have to go into the hospital and languish around on IV antibiotics for a few days before they can do surgery. That would suck mightily, because there is no WiFi in the hospital. Geesh. How medieval can you get?!

In other news, the phrase, "…they'll assess whether you're healthy enough for surgery at this point…" is one of the weirdest ones I think I've ever heard. Let's see. I'm sick because my gallbladder is pumping toxins randomly into my system, irritating my pancreas and causing infection. But maybe I'm too sick to have it taken out? Sooooooo…let's go over options, here. If I'm too sick to have the gallbladder out, how, pray tell, do we get the dumb thing to quit pumping toxins long enough for me to get healthy enough for you to take it out?

Do I want to know the answer to that? Probably not. But inquiring minds still want to know.

I'll tell you what I'm looking forward to. I'm looking forward to the first time I can take a breath without it hurting. Right now, when I breathe in it feels like something sharp is jammed up between my right lung and my shoulder blade. It's one of those things that just wears you down. In the morning, it's merely annoying. By bedtime, you're trying to think of ways you could skip a few breaths, you know, get a little break from this @*((^& thing.

I haven't done this much 'calm, gentle, shallow breath' meditating in nearly two decades.

Also, I wouldn't mind not being tired All The Freaking Time. I wake up tired. I go to bed tired. By 3:00 in the afternoon I start feeling weepy, I'm so tired.

And that's another thing. The moodiness. Wanting to cry for no damned reason, or snapping at my family, or telling my daughter to Shut!Up!Already!, or snarking all over random medical personnel because they asked me the same question for the fourth time or told me that if I start feeling uncomfortable I should trot on back in ('start' feeling uncomfortable?! I've been uncomfortable for four months, you silly twit! SNARK! SNARK SNARK! SNARK!!!!!!)…I could do without that, too.

But I'm very hopeful that the end really is in sight, now. I've got the all important referral to the surgeon. I've got the pictorial proof needed by the insurance company that yes, Virginia, my gallbladder has left the building. I've got the lab work to prove that it is doing me real and immediate harm.

I'm not just whining. I'm really sick. *cough cough* Yes, very sick. Probably the only cure would be a huge infusion of California Brittle.

YES YES, I KNOW!!! Sick gallbladders do not need huge infusions of chocolate toffee.

Or pizza.

Or ice cream.

Or pie.

...stupid freakin' gallbladder…